Bokoro of the Desert
by Hachichi the Medic
Summary: Takes place after episode 25 of "Paradise is Where the Heart is," and features a cameo by a member of Viroro Shotai. Bokoro journeys out into the desert in search of a reported tribe of nomadic Keronians, living apart from society. One shot.


Bokoro of the Desert

All right, my buddy and fellow writer, Viroro, whom you might know from Viroro Shotai and Keroro Shogun, just had his fifth anniversary with his platoon. That's astounding. And that was worth doing something for.

His work's mainly in Italian, so if you speak the language, I highly suggest giving it a read! And there's an English-language fic right now, "Filling the Void", that he's doing that I think ya'll would like.

Anyway, I said I'd do this, so here is it. I focused on Bokoro, a personal favorite of mine, and also filling in a few gaps in my own story, too. I hope you like it, and I hope it's not too OOC, or anything. .;; My Italian's poor at best but I still tried my very best to keep them in character!

He wasn't sure if it was the smartest thing to do, in retrospect… But he had to find out.

He had done more in the name of research for his stories, before, and now wasn't any different. But the desert was harsh. Were there really supposed to be Keronians out here?  
Bokoro pulled the cloth draped around his neck closer to his mouth, and bowed his head down; another sandstorm. This was the last thing he'd needed to happen, right now. The sun beating down was enough. But now the strong winds… They blew his small body nearly over. The red Keronian soldiered forward, however, going north, as he'd been instructed by the alien tribe living on the outskirts. They'd been the first ones to mention the tribe of ancient Keronians….

The Sankaku.

They'd been but myth when he was growing up, and barely anything was left about them. To have living ones, and living testimony…

He wondered if he missed them right now, the rest of his team. Viroro, Pakiki… He missed them, he had to admit. But he had a journalistic duty. He continued on, now, his backpack heavy, and the wind picking up. The sand was only growing thicker around him.  
And then the steep dune turned too steep, and he slid, and slid. And his backpack fell off of him. And his notes went flying in the storm.

He didn't have enough time to worry about this; he landed, and his metal canteen landed on top of his head. He was out cold under the Egyptian heat. This made him unaware of the several small shadows that circled him as the storm gave way.

Bokoro woke up with a start, in a cold sweat. It'd been nightmares, maybe. Thoughts of never seeing any of his platoon again. Thoughts of being lost to the desert.  
It was night now, and with it came the coldness of the night. He pulled a heavy blanket around himself and then came to the realization that there was a blanket to put around him.

A tent… He was in a tent! The red Keronian adjusted his purple cap and looked about in awe. Intricate patterns all over the inside walls of the tent—Even the stakes holding up the tent had been craved into. He ran his hand over one of these…. Keronians? Stylized and primitive, but… Keronians, all the same.

He did the first thing that any writer would do in the situation he was in, and he reached for his notebook in his backpack, which was laid out beside him on the pallet.

"N-Nowhere?!" he choked, and began to dump out all of the contents frantically. "W-Where's it gone?! It-It has to be somewhere!"

A rustle of the thick hide tent, and he came to a halt at the presence of a shadow in the room, lit from behind by the large fire outside. He was only now aware of the noises from outside, the singing and the instruments.

"…Humna….?" the voice in the Keronian was deep, and he took another step forward, his purple eyes shining against the light.

"M-My book, have you….?" Bokoro found himself falling back down on the bed, and the Keronain reached into the fabric draped over his shoulder, pulling out a few pieces of paper. Bokoro's eyes immediately lit up, and he hopped up at joy again upon seeing them.

"T-Thank you, thank you!" he exclaimed cheerfully, taking the Keronian's hands. "Mr….?"

"Rohokohiki," he answered, and took another step forward. "Now what are you doing here? People don't come out here without reason."

"I-I… You speak the same language!" he gasped in delight, and began to take note of this. Rokiki just as quickly and stormed away. "Wait, where're you going?!"

Rohokohiki answered by heading to the fire. Bokoro gave a yelp and rushed to stand next to what he saw now at the heavily tattooed Keronian, and jumped in front of him, blocking him from the fire.

"Who in the hell sent you? You have five seconds to answer, and you'll be lucky if the paper's the only thing I torch!" he snarled, loud enough to grab the attention of all of those around the fire. Other Keronians, a small band, all looking on, curious at the new stranger.

"I came on my own!" Bokoro answered, stuttering in horror as he realized his own bold move in front of the scary Keronian. Sharp teeth, he had sharp teeth!

"Rohokohiki…." a small voice amongst the only other sound, that of the crackling fire. "…Come here…"

Rohokohiki relaxed, and nodded for Bokoro to follow him into the tent. He was the first to sit down in front of the pile of navy blue fabric, and Bokoro, puzzled, followed. He then realized, wide-eyed, that it was another Keronian under here…. An extremely old one…

"Now don't upset me. You know it's not good for my health…." she said in her tiny voice.

"I'm sorry, Mother…" Rohokohiki muttered, and she glanced out from underneath the hood of the long cloak, and smiled. She then looked to Bokoro, and he felt himself flush at the attention being on him, suddenly.

"You'll have to forgive my son… He was treated similar when he first found us… Why are you here? Is there something you need? No one comes here without needing something…"

"I… I heard about the Sankaku!" he answered, finding the courage within him to speak to the ancient woman. Still, his voice sounded so much louder out loud than in his mind. "I always heard about you, growing up. I'm a writer, you see? And… You're one of the great mysteries of Keron! I didn't mean any harm, I promise! I came all the way from Japan!"

"Japan?" she smiled a bit. "We used to live there, the Sankaku. When we first came to this planet, that's where we landed. I think a few of us might remain there, still. People found us. We couldn't live there, any longer. We made the trek here. It wasn't easy. And Rohokohiki's made the same trip, now. And now you…. You came a long way. It would be unfair to have you leave empty-handed…"

"Mother…." Rohokohiki glanced toward her, and she only smiled wisely at him.

"There is no reason to tell him about our culture… And in return, he won't tell of our home here, I'm certain… Correct?"

"Right! You've got it!" he excitedly picked up his paper and pencil, and she gave a small, tired laugh.

And he sat there, and listened as she spoke. And spoke. And spoke. Everything about the Sankaku he could ever imagine, while Rohokohiki looked on, protective of his mother, occasionally stopping her to rest or get her something to eat or drink.

"…And that's perfect. Just as we finish, the sun rises," she said with a satisfied sigh, and Bokoro yawned, and looked over his shoulder to the open tent. He hadn't even noticed the night passing them by, and it growing warmer…

Another looming Sankaku… He certainly noticed this, however.

"What are you doing here?" Rohokohiki stood and moved to the Keronian outside of the tent. "I told you don't come near her, you'll just upset her again, you idiot!"

"You old drunk!" he spat. "Your mother has been sitting here, hour after hour, giving away all of our tribe's history on a platter to that… That… Plain-faced intruder!" the purple Keronian clung onto the tent door angrily, and glared at Rohokohiki. Bokoro shuddered at the phrase "plain face"… After a long night of Sankaku history, he knew exactly how bad of an insult this genuinely was.

"What she does is none of your business! And if she says he's all right, then he is!"

"…That damned outside world changed you…."

"Horokohoro!" the Keronian woman shouted, and bolted up from her sitting position. This stunned Bokoro, who had barely seen her move in all of the hours she'd spoken with him. This was followed by a yell from her, and she collapsed down again, Bokoro rushing and grabbing onto her to ease her back down.

Rohokohiki looked at the young, purple Keronian with pure rage, but rushed to his mother's side. He, along with Bokoro, laid her back onto the bedding, and she panted, winded from the suddenly burst of excitement.

All was quiet in the tent. Bokoro got a good look at her face for the first time, and how old she really was… And maybe, just maybe, he saw a bit of himself somewhere in the ancient features….

"I'm sorry you had to see that…" Rohokohiki sat outside of the tent, Bokoro next to him. The writer Keronian had been going over his notes, and gave an understanding smile.

"It… It's all right… What's he so upset about….?"

"…He picked the wrong hero to worship…. I'll be the first person to admit he's gone insane, and I used to spend my Fridays downing rubbing alcohol… If it weren't for him, I…."

"You… What…?"

"Nothing," he stood, and looked to Bokoro. "Are you going to be here much longer?"

"If… If that's all right. I just wanted a few statements, is all! And I promise, I won't mention this place!"

"Good, because I'm not above hunting people," Rohokohiki said, more of an eerie warning than a threat. This made Bokoro shiver a bit.

"Rohokohiki!" a panicked Sankaku woman, a tiny black one, rushed up to him, "Horokohoro, he… He's gone!"

"What?!"

"He said he wasn't going to put up with it, and he just left! He took one of the masks with him!"

"What one?"

"Cikap, I think!"

"…The War God…. That loony bastard…. He's going to do it…." he glanced to Bokoro, and pulled out from his sash a dagger, and placed it in the stunned writer's hands. "Stay inside, he couldn't have gotten far…"

"I…"

"Get!" he shouted, and Bokoro did so, scurrying back into the old woman's tent.  
He spun around and looked to her, laid out on the pallet of blankets and pillows, and she opened her red eyes slightly, and sighed.

"Horokohoro's gone to find vengeance…." she shut her eyes again, and Bokoro, compelled, knelt down next to her. "Rohokohiki will go get him…. This I'm certain of… It will be all right…"

"Madam, are you….?" Bokoro was overcome with a small sense of dread that he couldn't immediately place, suddenly. She reached out, took his hand, and smiled at him.

"I've been here a long, long time… I first watched the snow come down, and then the sands grow… And it's been beautiful. And I've got to see my son, and make for certain that my tribe's story will be told, even after all of the work to destroy it. I'm going to meet my husband, soon, although Rohokohiki doesn't realize it or doesn't want to. I'm old. I should have left this version of myself years ago. But… Thanks to you, I'll be able to live on for others. And so will my tribe. Don't tell him I told you this… I want him to go back to his family. He belongs there, not in the desert. He grew here, and a flower in the desert is so hard to grow, so he could flourish anywhere, but his heart is back in Japan. See that he goes there, please?"

"Yes, madam," was all Bokoro could whisper. She left go of his hand, and he stood, and backed out of the room.

By then, Rohokohiki and the others had combed the camp…. No sign of Horokohoro anywhere.  
He gave a growl of frustration, and looked to at the ground. He was thinking. Bokoro, cautiously, took a step forward, his notes tight against his chest.

"It… Would be best to go after him?"

"…That's what I was thinking…." he looked up at the open sky a long, long while. And Bokoro watched as the Sankaku Keronian passed by him, into his mother's tent.  
He waited, and waited…. And finally settled on sitting down and editing his notes. He prayed everyone would understand why he couldn't bring back any souvenirs from his trip…. Would they even believe this, though?

He was startled by the sudden presence of Rokiki again, and quickly bolted to his feet, "Is everything…?"

"I'm going back to Japan," he replied, and looked sideways to Bokoro. "….You wanna go with me?"

"That… That is where I'm going!" Bokoro answered, placing his notes in the backpack he'd collected while waiting for Rohokoki's verdict.

"Good…." Rohokohiki nodded. "I'll drop you off, and then I'll go bury that little punk…"

"I wish you luck," was all Bokoro could think in this situation. He looked over his shoulder once, to Rohokohiki's mother. She nodded to him, and then shut her eyes. He only wished to get to know the woman a bit more, whether or not writing was involved….

"Well, we've got a walk ahead of us, you okay with that?"

"Certainly, Mr. Rohoko—"

"Rokiki. I'm Rokiki," he answered. "…Let's get going… We should make it out in a day or two…."

"….He hasn't said much all week…" Viroro said aloud to himself, and looked into the room; Bokoro, typing away at his computer, just as he had been the entire time he'd returned from… Wherever he'd gone. It was hard getting any answers out of him, all anyone knew was that all of his bags and clothing had come home covered in sand. "Maybe I should…. Bokoro…..? Bokoro?"

The writer gave a start, and spun around, "O-Oh, sorry!"

"Are you okay….? You don't seem yourself…"

"Just wrapped up in my work, is all! I promise I won't be much longer… Sorry if I've seemed distant!"

"The Sankaku?" Viroro picked up the cover sheet to the tome in progress, and then set it down again. "….This much information them, really?!"

"I had good sources," Bokoro answered, with, of all things, a chuckle.

"…Hrm?" Viroro glanced to the second page now… The dedication, "…Who's Kikerhojo?"  
Bokoro looked over to him, and sighed. "You're going to have to read it and find out."

"You're impossible with that," Viroro laughed, and set it down. "Good luck, don't work too hard!"

"I always work hard!" Bokoro returned. He looked down at the dedication, and the name. He would make the book a good one… He'd been reminded why writing was so wonderful to him, in the first place. The desert had managed to make his love of writing only blossom.

She had been right; things could grow even in the desert .


End file.
